


Into the Grey

by amaradangeli



Series: Sam and Jack Weekly Oneshot Challenge Submissions [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of unrelated oneshots in response to the Sam/Jack Weekly Oneshot Challenge at GW. Chapters rated individually.  (All other WOS entries will be posted as part of a series beginning with this multi-chap story and also the the WOS Collection here on AO3.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tuesday Nights

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first oneshot in response to the Weekly Oneshot Challenge over at GW. Each week (fingers crossed) I'll post my response as a new chapter here. All the stories will be unrelated. This one started with the image of Sam sitting in a bar and the rest just sort of happened.
> 
> Word/Phrase Challenge: Home
> 
> Rated: General to Mature (for Language & Sexual Themes)

She doesn't like holding up a bar on a Tuesday night, but she does it anyway now that it's all gotten to be a little too much. She's not crazy about the burn of whiskey as it cauterizes her heart more than her throat, but she drinks it anyway. It doesn't help when men think she's an easy target, surer to say yes with each shot she takes, but she lets them think it anyway because the lie hurts in that good way that things don't hurt since she found a way to bring the colonel home.

It's been eight weeks and an undercover mission that wasn't hers and yet still nearly broke her and she's no closer to telling him to go to hell than she is to fucking him through the drywall in her hallway but she's sure it's got to be one or the other. Both things could end her career but fucking him isn't an option.

It doesn't help that several weeks ago he came in to the bar and tried to apologize. She just wouldn't have it. Couldn't have it because she believed him but she doesn't trust him and she doesn't know what to do in a world where she doesn't trust Jack O'Neill. And now for the third week in a row he's sitting down at the other end of the bar watching while men hit on her and she turns them down nicely with a smile that used to be reserved for him even though he didn't know that until he watched her use it on someone else.

Instead she does obscene things to the mouth of the beer bottle she fingers between shots, ties knots in cherry stems with her tongue and tries not to meet his eyes. Sometimes she doesn't do so well and she likes that dark, heavy look in his eyes and likes to imagine she's seeing things even though she knows she isn't. She's got him. At least on Tuesday nights. On Tuesday nights he wants her.

But it's too little too late because she was there when he turned away from her after she did the impossible to bring him home and she's not sure how she's ever supposed to forgive him for moving on while she was figuring out she was in love with him.

Once she's hit the fifty dollar limit she sets for herself she tabs out and grabs her motorcycle helmet off the barstool next to her. This is the part of the night that makes it all feel worth it. She's slightly wobbly on her feet and her leather pants stick to her uncomfortably and not only because she's a little sweaty but because he looks at her the way he does. She likes how he follows her out and then follows her home just in case she really is drunk enough to take the corners too fast. It feels like he's repenting and she's willing to let him try.

She's never let a man make her reckless before but she flirts with the idea that maybe there was something more to life at one point but it's passed her by or it's not possible anymore or maybe she doesn't even really want it anyway.

She likes the way he sits in her driveway while she moves through her house first turning the lights on then turning them off as she makes her way through to bed. She likes listening to the sound of his engine idling outside and wondering what he might do while he's out there.

On Wednesday mornings now he's always churlish with her and she's not sure if it's because of the drinking, the driving, the ignoring him or the lustful undercurrent that punctuates their Tuesday evenings. She just 'yes sir's' him within an inch of his life and takes a little pleasure in watching as his eyes continue to narrow during the day.

Then one Tuesday he touches her by accident in the elevator and she realizes that wrong or right she's either got to tell him to go to hell already or she'll yank him into her house that night and try out the whole fucking-him-through-the-drywall scenario she's been picturing through her first several drinks at the bar.

She realizes, as she contemplates that in the brief heartbeat when she can feel the heat of his fingers through the fabric of her blouse, that she misses the easy flirtation they'd had before she'd discovered she was serious and before he'd proved he could fall in love with an alien woman because while she thinks very seriously about doing harm to her drywall she doesn't really want that with him. Because when she's not drinking scotch with a beer back she doesn't think about him quite like that.

When she's on base and they're both in uniform, when they're swilling coffee and having mission briefings, when it's not Tuesday night and not Wednesday morning, she thinks about bringing him home. She thinks about relief.


	2. Polywhat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Structure Challenge: All Dialogue
> 
> Rated: General (It's kid stuff, folks)

"If men with multiple wives are polygamists, what do they call women with multiple husbands?"

"Oh, fer cryin' out—"

"No, sir, I'm serious."

"Polyandrists."

"Really? There's a name for it?"

"Well, sure. Why wouldn't there be?"

"I don't know."

"For what purpose did you ask, Major Carter?"

"It occurred to me – again – that I'm married to each one of you. Several times over in fact. Can I count you as four husbands, Daniel? Because if so I'm missing out on some serious tax credits."

"We didn't actually pay for any of those weddings."

"So?"

"I believe we have been married sixteen times, Major Carter."

"Oh yeah. I should be raking in serious dough for you."

"You only married him so many times because of all the lifting and carrying. My knees aren't what they used to be."

"What are you saying, Jack?"

"Shut up."

"I believe O'Neill was clarifying the purpose of my numerous marriages to his intended—"

"Teal'c!"

"Anyway, by my tally I've been married twenty-two times."

"Twenty-one."

"Nope, twenty-two."

"Well, I could list them all if you like, Sam, but we've counted sober before and it's me four times, Teal'c sixteen times, and Jack once. Twenty-one."

"Perhaps Major Carter is referencing another marriage for which we were not present, Daniel Jackson."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Why aren't you freaking out right now?"

"What? About Carter's mystery-marriage?"

"Yes, Jack."

"Perhaps not such a mystery after all, Daniel Jackson."

"But—"

"Let it go, Daniel."

"But—"

"Hey, a girl's got to have her secrets."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So married.


	3. By the Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marooned off-world in a Days Inn and under the influence. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some strangeness just because I felt like it today. Actually, I went all stream-of-consciousness on this piece and it worked a little so here we are… It’s mildly shippy due to some latent jealousy but mostly it just exists.
> 
> Setting Challenge: Hotel  
> Rated: General (It's kid stuff, folks)

Sam picks up a rock that looks and feels like Earth’s limestone and tosses it hard enough that it leaves a white mark when it hits the dark wall on the other side of the room.  A few moments later, an answering thump sounds from the other side of the wall. 

The colonel’s voice crackles up from the walkie-talkie on her shoulder, “It looks a little like a Days Inn, don’t you think?”

She tosses another rock and thumbs the talking button, “The paint’s too dark,” she responds but doesn’t close the channel because she knows the white-noise sound drives him crazy.  She’s been in the little room all by herself for a while and she’s bored.

A minute later he’s standing in what would have been the doorway, filling the space meant for much shorter, smaller beings.  “So what…like a Ramada?”

She can’t help her chuff of laughter.  “What do you think aliens need with a motel, anyway?”

“Don’t you ever wonder if they say that about us?”  He settles on the floor next to her, leaning against the foot of the bed-like thing like she is.  “Can’t you just imagine Thor and his Norse-God buddies sitting around eating little yellow blocks of soylent green discussing what possible need humans with domiciles would have for establishments that rented by the hour?”

“I’m pretty sure those aren’t the establishments that would catch Thor’s attention.”

The colonel shrugs, “He’s a curious guy.”

Footsteps pass by the doorway and then stop and backtrack.  “Hey,” Daniel says, slightly affronted.  “I’ve been all alone in there.”

“The Colonel’s just come over,” Sam offers and pats the space on the floor next to her.  “You’re welcome to join us.”

“If you hadn’t broken your comm unit you could have been talking to us the whole time,” O’Neill points out needlessly.

“Geez,” Daniel whines, “it’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“We know,” Sam soothes and pets his hair.  “Do you really thing Asgard food is soylent green?”

“Ewww,” Daniel wrinkles his nose.

“Makes sense,” O’Neill says with a shrug, “it’s not like they’d want to be wasteful.”

“I wonder if cloned bodies have any nutritional value,” Daniel muses.

“Those bodies would need to be useful for something,” O’Neill mutters.

“Jack!” Daniel sounds personally affronted.

“The Colonel thinks this place looks like a Days Inn,” Sam supplies.

Daniel tilts his head to the side as if seeing the room from a different angle will help.  “I’d say more like a Ramada.”

Jack chuckles.  “See, Carter?”

“Do you think alien hotels rent by the hour?” She asks, leaning a little towards Daniel.

He seems to seriously consider her question.  “So far I think we’ve found that Earth’s the only planet on which sex is sordid.”

“Earth sex isn’t sordid,” Jack defends.

“Then you’re not doing it right,” Sam replies then claps her hand over her mouth while flushing scarlet. 

“Why, Carter,” Jack drawls as Daniel’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline.

“Have you ever been to a hotel that rented by the hour?”

“No,” Jack says and shifts uncomfortably while Sam mumbles, “yes,” from behind the hands that still cover her face.

“Seriously?” Daniel asks though it’s hard to hear him under O’Neill’s slightly hysterical laughter.

“I was in college,” Sam groans.  “What? I’m not allowed to have made any bad decisions?”

“Sex in a by-the-hour room was a bad decision?” O’Neill asks as he gets his laughter under control.

“No,” she concedes, “but the guy was.”

“It was Connor, wasn’t it?” Daniel asks and Sam buries her head in his shoulder and giggles.

“Who the hell is Connor?”

“It was like—“ Daniel mumbles under the hand Sam claps over his mouth, “—years ago, Jack.  What difference does it make?”

“Carter,” Jack sighs, “you do know _I_ know how old you are, right?”  She shrugs.  “Besides, I’ll always be older.”

“Sixteen years older,” Daniel offers and withers a little under Jack’s glare.

“So, do you think that gas they pumped through the building is having any effect on us at all?” Sam asks the guys as she tilts further into Daniel’s side.

“Nope,” Jack says and rests his head against the bed thing behind them.

“None whatsoever,” Daniel agrees and wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders before they all fall asleep.


	4. Owe You One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack recovers from a severe sunburn in the infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting Challenge: Infirmary
> 
> Rated: General (It's kid stuff, folks)

It was strange to see him lying in bed looking washed out despite the brilliant pink of his sunburned flesh.  She pressed the tip of her finger gently against the back of his hand in that fleshy spot next to the root of his thumb and watched as the pink receded to white.  She lifted her finger and the white circle rush back to pink.  She’d gauged sunburn severity by such a test since she was a girl and the speed of the re-pinking told her the burn was bad.  Really bad.

Janet had told her that, too, so she wouldn’t have chanced the press-test unless she was sure the Colonel was on a great deal of pain killers. So intent was she on his hands, on the pinky-red flesh of his arms beneath a protective layer of aloe Vera and lidocaine gel, that his voice made her jump.  “Your hands are cold,” he remarked, “put them back.”

She smiled a little before she grimaced and then, as requested, laid her cooler hands over the superheated flesh on the backs of his.  “You shouldn’t have stayed out there so long,” she admonished.  “You should have kept your jacket on.”

“Carter, it was a hundred and sixteen degrees and you were buried.  I was more concerned with getting you out quickly than I was about whether or not I’d get a suntan.”

“Sun _burn_ ,” she pointed out.  “And a bad one, at that.”

“I’ve been hurt worse,” he shrugged off her concern.  “And for less reward.”

“Thank you for coming to get me.”

He scoffed.  “Like I’d have left you planted in the ground.”

~*~

The next day she took him a vanilla milkshake and played him a game of chess where she moved both their pieces.  She winced in sympathy when the nurse made him sit up and lean forward so she could change the dressings on the back of his neck and arms where he’d gotten the worst of the sun leaned over as he’d been digging her out of desert sand.

“I can’t feel anything, Carter,” he soothed and indicated the IV, “I’m on the good stuff.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad for you anyway,” she pointed out and he gave her half a shrug and pretended not wince when the nurse pulled the dressings away.

~*~

The following morning she showed up with iced coffee and found he’d started to blister overnight. She sucked in her breath when she saw him and he grimaced.  “Still on the good stuff, Carter.  Leave it be.”

“But, sir,” she exhaled and discovered she couldn’t continue.

“It’s still worth it.”

She didn’t tell him how she was still dusting sand out of personal crevices or about the chafing carefully hidden by her clothing because it seemed petty in light of his own injuries.  And because he’d have felt worse knowing she’d experienced any lasting discomfort at all.  Instead she said, “I’m glad you feel that way, sir,” and set up the chess board.

~*~

The next day she entered his room to find the nurse handing him a fresh shirt.  He cleared his throat uncomfortably but waved her in anyway.

“Oh please,” she said and set an iced tea down on the table by his bed, “like I wasn’t topless when you dug me up.”

“Hey,” he replied in a fit of pique, “it’s not like I looked.”

“Yeah, right,” she said and raised her eyebrow in a way that would have made Teal’c proud.

“ _Much_.”

~*~

A few days later he was peeling and itchy and all around irritable but she sat with him and played chess anyway.  By then he could move his own pieces.  And despite his ire he kept flicking amused glances at her until she huffed and allowed him to put her king into checkmate.  “What?”

“What ‘what’?” He asked, knowing that particular question always infuriated her.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

His gaze slipped down from her face to her belly button and a small smile played around his mouth.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” she pointed at him.  “You did it again!”

He started resetting the board.  “It’s just, now I know.”

“Now you know?  Know what?”

He took his sweet time lining his pawns up just perfectly and then reached for the slushy she’d brought him.  He met her eyes and gave her wink that made her stomach flip flop in a way it wasn’t supposed to.  “Know _what_?” she pressed.

“Now I know just where that little mole is.”

She groans.  “I _knew_ you looked.”

“And I know it has a friend.”

When she’d finally stopped blushing enough to look up at him again she found a wide smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.  “Well, sir,” she finally decided, “consider us even.”

“Oh no, Carter,” he said with amusement.  “I’m pretty sure I owe you one.”


	5. Up To No Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aliens made them (dream about) do(ing) it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word/Phrase Challenge: Dreams
> 
> Rated: Mature (Let’s talk about sex, Baby)

Things were starting to get ridiculous, Sam thought as she fought her way up from the depths of sleep and dreams.  She groaned aloud as she could feel the residual tingling throughout her body.

“You too, Carter?” she heard from a couple feet away.  The colonel’s voice was sleep roughened and frustrated, too.

“How much longer is this supposed to go on?”  She didn’t dwell too much on the less than professional timber of her voice or the fact that she didn’t address her commanding officer with the appropriate respect.  They were, after all, discussing their spontaneous – and relentless – erotic dreams and subsequent climaxes.

“Daniel worked out about three more days, but there’s no way to know for sure since the alien physiology is so different from ours.”

“And we couldn’t be doing this at home?  In the privacy of…well, privacy?” she floundered when she realized it was bad enough to be talking about orgasms within the proximity of her CO _without_ bringing their bedrooms into it.

“I’m giving you all the privacy I can,” and he did sound apologetic.

She sighed.  “I know, sir.  It’s just very, very embarrassing.”

“It could be worse,” he supplied.  “You could be bunking with Teal’c and Daniel.  If you think Jaffa sneeze hard…”

She screwed up her face, “Ewww, sir.”

“Yeah, that’s a trip to the john I won’t soon forget.”

“I’m starting to rethink this whole two man tent, thing.”

“You and me both, Carter.  It’s not like I’m completely comfortable…you knowing…when you’re right there.”

“Sir, you can’t help it,” she tries to comfort.

He waves her off.  “Take your own advice, would you?”

“Besides, I’ve never witnessed yours. 

“Seriously?  You want to tit for tat me on this one?”

She was glad it was dark in the tent.  It wouldn’t have done for him to see her blush.

But apparently her silence was enough.  “Holy shit, Carter.  You _do_ want to tit for tat me.”

She imagined his incredulous look but could hear the smile spread across his face.  “Well, well, well.  Not so proper now, are you?”

“I never claimed to be proper, sir.”

“You never fessed up to being kinky, either.”

“If watching is kinky, sir, isn’t this a little ‘pot calling the kettle black’?” She threw up air quotes even though she knew he couldn’t really see them.

In the silence, the direction the conversation had wandered finally occurred to them.  “Oh god, sir, I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” he waved her off.  “My fault.  I shouldn’t have goaded you.”

“Remember when Daniel said we might find our inhibitions lowered as well?”

“Consider them lowered?”

“Yes, sir.”  She flopped back onto her bedroll.  “I’m just so tired.”

“I’m up.  You might as well catch forty or so.”

She started to thank him and then thought better of it.  “If it’s all the same to you,” she said while pushing herself up to standing, “I think I’m going to go make some coffee.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A few hours later, as the pinkish sun was cresting the orange-ish horizon, she entered the tent to find her commanding officer in the throws of an incredibly satisfying looking orgasm.  And she couldn’t look away.  She couldn’t decide whether to focus on his hips or his face since both were doing such interesting things.  When his hips finally settled – mostly – she decided his face would be more interesting and there she met wide, brown, uncertain eyes.

“Uh…” She was pretty sure she should have thought of something else to say.

He rolled his eyes as her uncharacteristic speechlessness.  “Well, I guess turnabout is fair play.”  He reached over to the pack next to him and pulled out a fresh pair of boxer shorts.  When she didn’t move he quirked an eyebrow.  “You gonna give me a minute or did you plan to keep watching?”

She intended to leave.  She really did.  But instead she opened her mouth.  “What do you dream about?”

The side of his mouth tipped up.  “Seriously?”  He waited for her to nod uncertainly.  “Sex, Carter.  I dream about sex.  Like Daniel does.  Like Teal’c does.”  He cleared his throat.  “Like you do.”

“No,” she shook her head, “I know.  I mean, what specifically?”

He groaned.  “C’mon, Carter, cut a guy a break, huh?  I know this is just the lowered inhibitions talking, but Sam, mine are low, too,” he pleaded.

She took pity on him and fled, taking her embarrassment far off to the alien version of a local library when she buried herself in picture books of their historical art.  Most of which was of a highly erotic nature, she noticed.  Oh, that so wasn’t helping.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She woke up gasping at 0200 – she knew because her forearm was flung over her eyes and she could read her watch quite clearly – with a handful of silk.  Wait, that wasn’t right.  There wasn’t any silk in an off-world tent – especially when that tent was issued by the SGC.  She looked over.  No, she was clutching the silver-grey hair of her commanding officer and by the look on his face he not only minded but was rather enjoying it.  She released him anyway.

He moaned deeply and like her body knew what was what, she tightened in the right places and softened in others.  She dug her heels down into the soft ground beneath the ground layer of the tent and tried push herself away from the fact that she’d woken up just shy of the penultimate moment her dream had been promising.  In fact, a stiff breeze would be all it took to solve her little problem.

The colonel stirred uncomfortably and came awake with a gasp of his own.  “It’s okay, sir,” she soothed roughly, “nobody here but us chickens.”

“Carter,” he rasped, “I think you’ve been spending too much time with me.

And then, as if he’d forgotten himself, he reached down and pressed a hand firmly against the most insistent part of him and groaned with sheer relief.

“Uh, sir?”

“Sorry, Carter.”  But he didn’t remove his hand.  He didn’t move it either, but she found little solace in that.

“I’d offer to give you a moment but…”

“You’re no better off than me?”

She exhaled in a rush.  “No, sir.”

He was quiet for a moment.  “Okay.  The way I see it, we can handle this one of two ways.  One we strong arm our way through it and never speak of it again.”

“What’s number two?”  Her voice sounded like the sharp edge of a knife even to her own ears.

“Two, we quietly take care of this pretending like we see nothing and hear nothing.”

“And never speak of it again?”

“Naturally, Major.”

She was already sliding her hand into her pants when she said, “Number two.  Oh, god, I pick number two.”  She pretended not to hear his zipper.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The tent smelled like sex when she woke up.  And wow was _that_ not helping.  She glanced over and saw the colonel lying there with one arm flung over his head, his eyes wide open, and breathing deeply.  “So,” he tried, without looking at her, “I’m thinking maybe that wasn’t the best course of action.”

“Never. Speak.  Of it.  Again,” she ground out and then bolted out of the tent.

And she would have been okay if she hadn’t heard his answering chuckle.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They all bunked down that night later than usual, all four more than halfway over the edge of a precipice to something in the vicinity of flashing neon lights that read, simply, “WRONG”.

Teal’c excused himself to the woods using a voice Sam could live with never hearing again and Daniel had long since retired to their tent where he was less than quiet about what he was doing to hopefully stave of dreams and being ripped back into wakefulness before any real rest had been achieved.

“I can’t decide if I want to go to sleep or not,” she said while tossing little flint stones into the fire.

“We’re all way past tired, Major.  And it’s not like we can help what’s happening.  Might as well get what little rest we can.”

“I’m thinking I might sleep out under the stars tonight,” she tried.

“Carter?  I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“For the, you know, usual reasons.”

“What if we wake up tonight like we did last night?”

He hauled her up off the log she was sitting on and nudged her toward the tent.  “It’s safe to say option 2 is no longer an option.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waited until she was curled up comfortably on her bedroll.  “Well see, Major, I’ve come up with an option 3.”

From the look of his grin she was pretty sure he was up to no good. 


	6. The Legend of Sally McAlister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love a wedding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting Challenge: Off-World Wedding  
> Rated: Mature-ish (Let’s talk about sex, Baby)

He hated Egyptian-like planets. He reviled the way the sun went down and the candles came out and everything – including Carter – took on a golden shimmer that looked downright, well, otherworldly.

He loathed the times they were asked stick around for a party. Most especially he detested the weddings where all the women were in gauzy, float-y, rip-able looking numbers with something on their skins that made them shimmer and some kind of perfume in the air that made him think of the parties in the sixties and the way it felt when Sally McAlister went down on him for the first time.

He despised the way Carter dragged her lips over her fingers when she put a bite of cake in her mouth. He abhorred the way her tongue snaked out of her mouth to lick tiny crumbs and sticky honey off her fingertips – especially the way it made him think of Sally McAlister again and the way her blonde head looked in his lap.

It was despicable the way her smile shot straight to his lap and the way her lilting laugh made him wish they were on the kind of planet where one or more of those fluidly dancing girls would be offered to him at night’s end.

He was insufferable when after several drinks and a few pieces of what turned out to be spiked cake he found himself with an armful of drunk and horny Carter – because all three of them learned a long time ago that drunken Carter was _always_ horny Carter – and absolutely no desire to fight her off.

He couldn’t stand the way he had to remind himself that while she offered to make like Sally McAlister on him he wasn’t allowed to actually take her up on it.

Mostly he just hated the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes the next morning.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was embarrassing the way she looked forward to the Egyptian-like planets where they might be asked to hang around for a wedding. It was awkward when the sun went down and the candles came out and she lived for the moment he’d roll up his sleeves and she would watch the shadows play on his forearms.

It was uncomfortable to watch how the front of his trousers changed shape when the dancing girls in scarves and veils appeared and began gyrating and writhing to pulsing and primal music.

She was uneasy with the way he’d pull his gaze away from her mouth or chest as she laughed because it was more disconcerting that he’d stop looking than that he’d started in the first place.

It was excruciating to watch his eyes dilate with hunger as he watched her slake hers with cake. She’d never admit that she licked her fingers clean only to get a rise out of him, as it were. And it was only a little humiliating that he was acutely aware that she got horny when she got drunk and that she got a little easy, too. It was more humiliating that he always seemed to have the strength to turn her down.

It was more than a little upsetting to hear him mutter the name Sally McAlister when she trailed her fingers down his chest.

It was mortifying the way he’d keep trying to catch her eye the next morning with some kind of reassurance that they were going to be okay.

 


	7. Stroke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power goes out, Sam has a crisis of confidence, and Jack has a few words on the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot Challenge: Power Outage  
> Rated: General (It's kid stuff, folks)

She’d stopped over to drop off his miter saw and somehow got roped into helping him finish a report on their last mission. Well, it wasn’t that big a mystery – the getting roped in part – since none of them had done very well with being alone since they’d gotten back. Hell, it was the reason she’d finally seen fit to return a tool she’d borrowed eight months ago that he hadn’t even asked for yet.

But after a couple of hours, the light grey sky had turned dark and threatening with that olive green cast that always screamed “tornado”. It didn’t take long before rain was coming down in buckets. Shortly thereafter it gave way to hail. She’d just reminded him to save his document when the house around them was plunged into sudden darkness.

She gasped uncharacteristically and tried to calm her thundering heart.

“You okay?” he asked as if something could have happened to her while she was perched, safely, in one of his dining room chairs.

“I’m fine, sir. Just startled.”

“By the power going out?” he queried wryly. “Why Carter, I had no idea you were such a _girl_.”

His assessment gave her pause. Should she take it like she’s one of the guys and blow it off? Or should she pay attention to that soft, squishy part inside her that would really like it if sometimes the guys she worked with realized that she was, in fact, an actual, bona fide _girl_?

He interrupted her chain of thought. “Well,” he cleared his throat and she could see him faintly in the residual light from outside that was streaking through the windows and he was most definitely uncomfortable, “ _obviously_ you’re a _girl_ …”

Apparently she hesitated long enough that he picked the point up on his own. And while she considered how she might let him off the hook, he apparently decided that he was in pretty hot water and proceeded to dig his hole and all those mixing sort of metaphors.

“Because, you know…you have the face. And the hair.”

All of a sudden his discomfort was amusing.

“And those _legs,_ ” the reverence with which he said it made her blush. And then he ruined it holding up his hands and tracing an hourglass silhouette that made her scowl. “And you, you know, just like you’re supposed to.”

But he amused her, so she let him continue to make his penance. She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest as lightning flashed and she was sure fix her face into a stern look of disbelief.

“And, well, your eyes. And your voice. And…” He started to run out of things and that made her chuckle – which is when he knew he’d been had. “Awe, c’mon, Carter – you know you’re hot.”

His frank observation surprised her. “You think I’m hot?”

“Well,” he floundered, “yeah. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

“Geez, sir, most the time I’m not even sure you guys know I’m female.”

“That’s pretty hard to miss,” he pointed out.

“Because of the…” she mimicked the silhouette he drew.

He shrugged one shoulder, “You’ve gotta admit, you do have a great—“

“Sir!” She tried to cut him off just as he said, “Rack”.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Rack? Really?”

“I don’t care what women think – there are no good words for those things. The ones that aren’t complete schmoop get men smacked when we use them around women and the ones that _are_ complete schmoop women don’t actually want to hear in a…situation.”

She considered his assertion and found she agreed. “Okay. I’ll give you that one.”

“The point is there’s no forgetting that you’re all woman, Carter.” In his voice was a weight she wasn’t sure how to handle so she waited to see if he’d continue. He didn’t disappoint her. “For some women, that’s all they’ve got to offer. Don’t sell yourself short – you’re a lot more than a pretty face and some killer curves.”

She chuckled, a little taken aback by the surreal nature of their conversation – a conversation she’s positive would never have happened if they weren’t shrouded in the kind of silent darkness that made you want to fill the space with noise.

“What’s really hot is that you look like you do, and then you open your mouth and you _think_ like you do. It’s really not fair to all the other girls when you think about it.”

She snorted. “Okay, sir, that’s enough.”

“Yeah, well,” she watched as a pinched look crossed his face during the next lightning strike, “if you ever need another ego stroking, I guess you know where to come.”

“Maybe you’ve got another saw I could borrow?”

The lights burst to life around them and suddenly the low hum from the fridge sounded incredibly loud. He considered her carefully. “Sure,” he finally said with a shrug, “bring it back whenever you need to.”

She smiled at him – a real smile she knew she reserved for him alone. “Yes, sir. I will.”


	8. Ad Arbitrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s just as hard talk about it as to not talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote Challenge: “That’s not what I meant when I said ‘no’.”  
> Rated: Mature (for Language & Sexual Themes)
> 
> Author’s Note: Set sometimes relatively soon after Upgrades, I imagine. But put it wherever it works best for you.

He runs his hands down her left leg feeling for injury. She hisses and jerks when the pressure on her knee proves to be too much.

“I think it’s busted, Carter.”

“Too bad, sir,” she grunts out. “We’ve got to move.”

He peers at her from under the bill of his cap. “That’s my line, Major.”

The ground explodes around them as staff blasts impact the soft earth. “Daniel and Teal’c?” She questions as he hauls her up off the ground with one of his shoulders planted in her armpit.

Together they take the first agonizing step. “Holed up about a half a klick from the gate.”

She bites back a cry when their combined movements jostle her a little too hard. “Oh,” she grinds out, “Teal’c must just _love_ that.”

“Carter, I think you’re catching my sarcasm.”

The next step rips a scream from her, but she clenches her jaw through it and it’s just a gut wrenching squealing sound by the time it hits Jack’s ear. She starts to go down but he hauls her up by her vest and keeps moving them forward.

“You’ve gotta keep moving, Major,” he grunts.

“No,” she says but her breath is stolen with another painful step.

He doesn’t argue. He sweeps her up into his arms and she’s over his shoulder before either one can overthink the move. His temple is pressed against her hipbone, his ear buried in her pocket, so he barely hears, “Sir! That’s not what I meant when I said ‘no’.”

From upside down she manages to grab his right pocket and cause him to spin the direction she’s indicating. “Caves!” she shouts, short of breath from the way his shoulders and her vest keep her lungs compressed.

Behind him he can hear the Jaffa’s voices getting quieter – because he and Carter are moving away, they are, or both. The staff blasts are less frequent, too, but he’s not putting her down. Not until they’re safer. Not until he doesn’t have to hear every pain laced step tear anguish through her lips.

He finds a niche inside one of the caves and deposits her there gently before going back to the mouth of the cave and listening closely for the sounds of approaching Jaffa. All he can hear are his harsh exhalations and her gentle whimpers knocking around the cave.

In the silence he notices night is falling. Well, shit.

He takes fifteen minutes to wrap Carter’s knee and gets her to choke down a couple of T3s and a few extra mouthfuls of water. After that he exchanges some terse conversation with Teal’c who verifies that the Jaffa are still present and camping out right at the gate. “We shall have to wait them out,” Teal’c declares and Jack wonders exactly when it is that he lost command of his team.

He comes back in from a latrine break to find Carter has her shirt hiked up under her breasts and she’s gently poking at her ribs. “Geez, Carter,” he deflects his embarrassment into anger, “what the hell?”

She looks up at him with wide blue eyes that don’t seem to see the problem. “I think I bruised a couple ribs, too.”

He exhales sharply. “When you went down or from me?”

She shrugs one shoulder and her t-shirt rides up exposing one perfectly rounded yet cotton-covered breast along with the smooth, creamy expanse of soft, warm skin. Jesus but she’s pale and perfect. “Probably when I fell. But I don’t think the fireman’s carry did me any favors.”

He drops to his knees next to her and gently probes the indicated area with his fingers and tries not to notice how close his face is to places of her he shouldn’t be thinking about.

Goosebumps chase themselves across her skin when he exhales. _Good_ , he thinks waspishly, _serves her right_.

But then night falls all the way, the temperature drops to something just shy of freezing, and they find themselves huddled up next to a fire he really shouldn’t have built in such an enclosed space. She’s wedged between his legs with a cold pack wrapped around her swollen knee and his arms banded around her belly just below the bruised ribs. They’re playing eye spy with the shadows on the walls when he rushes to point out one that’s dancing away. He brushes against her chest, catches the edge of a hard nipple and her hips press back into his groin.  It all happens so fast he doesn’t have time to check the groan that comes rushing out of him.

“For fuck’s sake, Carter,” he growls into her ear.

“Nice choice of words,” she grinds out and he realizes she’s almost as far gone as he is and it’s his responsibility to make sure this doesn’t get any harder. Shit. Any worse. “It’s just been too much this year,” she says after a few tense and silent minutes. “We shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.”

“ _This_ shouldn’t even be happening.”

“You think I don’t know that?” But she shifts from one buttock to the other and apologizes when he sucks in a deep breath. “I’m sitting on a rock.”

He’s lifting her with one hand cupped under her ass and the other sweeping the ground clean beneath her before he realizes that picking her up like this means putting his fingers in all sorts of warm, interesting and decidedly _moist_ places they shouldn’t be.

“Shit,” she mutters and draws in a shaky breath. “Fuck.” He sets her down less than gently and hopes the impact is as good for her as the resulting bounce was for him.

“Now who’s talking?” he says and between them, it breaks the tension and she’s laughing and he’s chuckling and she settles more fully back against him.

“You think this is ever going to get easier?”

“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t know you were wet right now.” He tries hard not to imagine sliding his hand down between her belly and her trousers and finding out just how much wetness it takes to soak through the heavy nylon/cotton blend. He doesn’t succeed.

“I meant later,” she says and he can practically hear her roll her eyes. “But it’s not like you’re so innocent back there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shifts her in his arms. “The T3s always have made you a little loose.”

“What’s the fun in sleeping through pain killers?”

“I think sleeping right now would be saving us a hell of a lot of this conversation.”

“Doesn’t matter if we talk about it or not. It’s still happening.”

“You think there’s anything in these caves that might explain why we went from studiously _not_ talking about wanting to fuck to actually talking about it?”

“No, sir, no such luck.”

He just harrumphs into her hair and takes sick pleasure in knowing that she can feel how hard he is against her ass.

After a couple of minutes he can feel her vibrating with tension. “I’ll make you a deal, sir. I’ll try really hard not to move if you’ll stop breathing against my ear like that.”

He chuckles but not before moving his mouth away from the side of her head. “Fair enough, Carter.”

He feels his ardor start to cool a little as she works on cooling hers. “It doesn’t seem fair that it’s just as hard talk about it as to not talk about it, does it?”

“I don’t think a damn thing about any of this is going to be fair. My guess? It gets worse before it gets better.”

“So maybe we should try to cut each other some slack? Maybe not make a thing out of it when one of us slips up?”

“You do realize I’ll probably be slipping up a hell of a lot more than you, right?”

She laughs and leans her head back to rest against his shoulder. “Yes, sir. I do.”


End file.
